


Amalgam

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Identity Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Cross had used it to try to kill Mercer.  Mercer used it to try to kill Greene.  And it had killed Cross.  Trying to sort out its place in the world using the memories of the man who had first used it, the Supreme Hunter begins to form a plan to ensure its future.





	Amalgam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/gifts).



Chain link rattled as rifles spat, infected howled, and the rotors of a Blackhawk began spinning up, Cross ignoring the bulk of the infected force.  He picked up the pace when his radio crackled to life, Taggart was ordering a full retreat.  The Old Man was bugging out, which meant one thing.  He’d made the call; Greene was dead so there was nothing left to salvage out of Manhattan.  The infected, ZEUS, any remaining civilians, and the forces who weren’t already offshore were going to burn.

On the one hand, a thorough, permanent burn should have been done sooner, it would’ve cost the unit less in manpower, necessary sacrifices.  The other part of him was convinced that this was a heavy-handed response to Blackwatch’s own fuckups.   Gentek thought Greene was somehow coordinating the infected; without her they might actually manage to pull things out of the fire.

The fact that he wasn’t on the frontlines, but was called back to Battery Park to receive personal instructions from the General didn’t help matters.  Whatever he wanted, the General had felt it couldn’t be relayed over the radio.  That meant, rather than dealing with the infected, Cross was going to be sent after someone high up.  Fratricide was something you got used to in Blackwatch, but being pulled from the front in order to kill someone—Taggart, probably—who would be stuck on an island about to be nuked? 

ZEUS killed Greene.  If Gentek was right, that was their second biggest problem taking care of their first.  Part of Cross mused that pointing Mercer at some other problems could be helpful.  McMullen was bright, but Gentek’s many failings had become obvious, and as the head of Gentek it rested on his shoulders.  Taggart was never going to leave the island once the gravity of the situation hit home—he might’ve been right that Blackwatch had been unprepared, but he’d been slow to adapt and wasted time and men foolishly. 

And General Randall…

“Get onboard sir!” Cross shouted, loud enough to be heard over the din of the battle.  His idle  thoughts were ridiculous.  Mercer had to be put down, hard, too.  And whatever McMullen or Taggart knew, Mercer couldn’t be allowed to find out.

Interrupted from making some demands of a soldier, Randall grabbed onto Cross and returned the yell.  “I’m moving Blackwatch command to the _Reagan_ and moving her out to sea!  Find Taggart!  Bring him to me!”

Randall backed into the passenger compartment of the Blackhawk, its only occupant.  He could only give Cross four hours.  The deadline was tight, but Cross could make it work.  Maybe dropping McMullen from the list, for now, and focusing on Taggart.  That seemed like a plan.

After the Blackhawk was in the sky Cross focused on the battle at hand.  There was a pause between the gunfire, and Cross saw it.  A massive infected; ten feet tall, maybe more.  It wasn’t a hunter, or at least not a type they were privy too.  It leapt over the fence, and the other soldiers began lighting it up with gunfire. 

Cross lit his taser and tensed, running through ideas on the best way to handle this thing.  He grimaced.

Four hours, and he did not have time for this.

* * *

It could move, could act on its will, it was free. 

MOTHER had use for it, and it had to obey.  It didn’t like the thought of having to obey MOTHER because it was useful and she was strong.  Because maybe it would not become useful at some point.  Or maybe she would never want it to try to consume its host, never allow it to sate its hunger.  But there was no other choice except obedience.

Until things changed.

MOTHER and its Host were fighting.  Many of the lesser children were called to aid, and many men and machines were also there.  It knew this was a massive fight, the most massive fight.  And MOTHER was calling it to her, in danger.

Danger.  That was interesting.

She was afraid of its Host, that she could be killed. 

It was afraid of MOTHER, what she could do if he did not obey, but it was not afraid of its Host—it was meant to devour the Host, after all.  If its Host killed MOTHER, it would have no reason to fear anymore.  Maybe it never really had a reason to fear her. 

So it ignored the call, let the Host kill her.  MOTHER was gone.  It was free now.

Except it wasn’t.

It wasn’t whole, it knew in its bones it needed to find its host again.  Needed to kill it.  Needed to make itself whole.  But the lack of MOTHER, lack of fear of her was odd, not an unpleasant feeling.

When MOTHER stopped calling, the others drifted, some of the lesser ones stumbled blindly in the direction it traveled.  That was interesting.  MOTHER had guided them earlier.  MOTHER had ordered it.  Now MOTHER was gone.  They needed direction. 

Could it provide that?

It found that it could.  A pack of infected moved as one.  Like when MOTHER rejected it and it found it had limbs, it could move of its own volition.  It could move the hive of its own volition now.  It was the Hive, and the Hive was it.  The gathering masses of infected surged South, to where the military presence was strong.

But while it gave the Hive direction, it lacked it.

Because it wasn’t whole.

The drift of infected South, to where the military was strongest, was unintentional.  Humans were all the same, much like the lesser infected.  Raw materials for the hive to build without a goal, now that MOTHER was gone and it was directionless.

Until something interesting happened. 

There was something familiar about the man standing before him.  Something residual, carried over from its host.  The thing hurt its host bad.  It was… afraid?  It roared in frustration as the lesser things, both its kin and the adversary’s allies maimed and hurt one another.  The fear was not its own, but its hosts, but it felt it nonetheless.  This new thing _had_ to die. 

The man stung him and burned him and dodged adeptly.  But as it swung and he maneuvered, that flickering recognition came back with more speed.  There were some flaws in the man’s strategy, things that its host had picked up on through painful experience. 

It could see the adversary’s eyes widen in recognition, when it plunged its talons into the concrete, it yielding and cracking as spikes burst up.  At the last second, the man rolled and dodged.  A line snagged onto a building and he was moving fast.  Almost fast enough to emerge unscathed.  Its massive hand curved around the adversary’s leg and held despite the shocks and stings. 

Flesh yielded and the adversary collapsed, unable to stand up on one leg.  The adversary continued to lash out, holding it at bay, shooting grenades.  But humans bled, and when they bled they weakened.  It bled, too, but not as bad.  It waited until blood loose took its toll and pounced.

And it learned.  It was Robert Cross, Captain.  Not its name, but that of the man it devoured.  That was interesting. 

* * *

_Captain Robert Cross stood at parade rest, eyes focused on the Old Man, cognizant of McMullen’s fidgeting while paying the man no heed.  The General was in a foul mood as a newscaster prattled on the sanitized for the press account she had been given—Cross wondered what the General got out of it, everything she said was either something he already knew or a lie one of his subordinates had cooked up. Maybe he was just assessing the cover story for holes?_

_Whatever the reason, the General was ignoring both Cross and McMullen until the Newscaster namedropped Alex Mercer as the chief suspect, at which point, he slammed the laptop shut.  It was safe for Cross to proceed.  “Sir?”_

_“At ease, Captain.”  The General stood, pushing himself up from the desk with his arm.  How he lost the other had always been a mystery, until Cross had earned enough leeway and goodwill with the brass to do a little digging into the unit history.  That then-Lieutenant Randall had cut his own arm off with a bonesaw had been somewhat inspiring at the time Cross had first read it.  “Director McMullen, share your data with the Captain.  Perhaps it will help him complete his mission.”_

_“Mercer… um… ZEUS… rebuilds on a cellular level—a shape shifter.”  Cross’s face didn’t betray the mild annoyance that was hearing the same briefing material he’d memorized front and back, only with McMullen stumbling over codenames.  “We used the DNA sample you recovered to synthesize a pathogen.  Inside ZEUS, the pathogen will generate a possible cure.”_

_“Do you understand your mission?” The General asked after handing a box containing a large vial of purple fluid to Cross._

_“I am to inject the weapon into the target, ZEUS, and bring him in.” Cross replied, and with barely a moment’s pause, added “Sir, with respect: all indications are…”_

_The General probably hadn’t paid any attention to Cross’s attempt to point out that even if ZEUS was disabled, the infection was spreading faster and digging in deeper than ever before.  Before Cross could even finish his sentence, the Old Man grabbed him in a powerful grip.  “Mercer isn’t a he, it’s an IT.  I will debrief you when you complete your mission.  Dismissed.”_

_That was that then.  Cross turned to leave the Old Man and McMullen to discuss whatever they were to discuss.  He thought he might’ve caught a glint of something in McMullen’s eyes the split second he made contact as he turned to leave—he knew that McMullen had done some digging he wasn’t supposed to, either.  The Director had an endgame here, one that wasn’t quite the same as the General’s._

_The question, of course, was Cross’s?_

_The Old Man had been at this for too long.  To the degree that Blackwatch began, he was there for it—Hope, at least, whatever came before that, whatever led to Hope, led him to Hope, who knew?  There was so much obfuscation and only so much Cross was willing to chance looking into.  Either way, the General had been at this for decades and was starting to crack from it.  Taggart was a coward, but from an objective standpoint he was right—what had worked for the Unit at Hope was not working for it now.  Mercer was only one unexpected factors, and they were losing ground because the Old Man was clinging to the past._

_At least, that was one interpretation._

_The other was that the Old Man had been out of it since the beginning, had been hoping for something of this scale.  Handing invaluable assets to corporate partners who moved her to the heart of the biggest city in the country, that was not the action of a sane man._

_But thoughts like that, that the General had been wrong from the beginning, were terrifying.  Because the General was with the Unit from the beginning, for all intents he was Blackwatch.  And if he was wrong from the start…_

_…That was some navel-gazing that Captain Cross could do at a later time.  It was concerning, but could be handled in the future.  The more pressing concerns was stopping Randall’s “It” from further interfering with the containment efforts._

* * *

_It was only in retrospect that it was aware of the warmth of body heat, through the glass of the vial and the glove of the hand holding it.  Or the acceleration-deceleration that happened during the fight.  The vibrations that reverberated through the air and glass and the liquid that was itself meant nothing at the time, although they formed the words “In a way… I feel sorry for you.”_

_A sudden acceleration-deceleration again, and it was forced from the glass it was contained in, flooding into meat and reacting.  Formless, directionless, thoughtless gave way.  It ate at the biomass it was in, taking form as best it could in a body fighting.  It knew nothing in the vial, but it knew hunger in the Host, that gave it direction.   And it fed on thoughts and memories from the host._

_It was unclear.  The concern the host felt, its pain and fear, mattered little as it strove to wear through its defenses, tried sate its hunger, satisfy the direction it had been given.  The host felt some new type of pain when it confronted another, backed her away._

_The host would feed itself, replenish what it had stolen, but that mattered little.  It was winning._

_When the host found a new non-host to interact with, the host felt something new.  It was positive, and that was not unpleasant for it.  The host could be scared or it could be hopeful, and it didn’t matter as long as it could feed off the host._

_It was only much to late, when it had leeched away enough to form its own thoughts, beyond thefts from its host or its own hunger, that it began to realize.  Its host was hoping to destroy, tear it away and leave its hunger unsated._

_The host tore a bit of it away, once, leaving it much like it began, liquid in a vial.  Except it could think now.  Think but not act, think and hunger and hate and rage and feel no relief at surviving in such a prison while the rest of it was killed and the host lived on._

_It didn’t end there, though._

_The sounds that issued forth from its hosts, the vibrations that travelled through air and glass and itself, were intelligible.  The Host wanted to use it.  The muddled thoughts were unbearable.  Did the host want to use it on itself?  Hope was quickly dashed.  It wanted to use it on Greene—something it did not know except for the loathing and anger of its host._

_Greene had taken Dana—another thing it knew from its host—and its host wanted to use it to kill Greene._

_Was that a cause for hope?  Worry?_

_Hate and hunger felt like the safest._

_Greene wasn’t like the host.  She was not right for it; it rejected her, and she rejected it.  But the rejection, the failure to find an anchor in Greene changed it.  It shifted and grew and had shape, it could act of its own volition.  It was no longer just something seeking an anchor._

_It was._

_And it wasn’t.  It wasn’t whole.  It still needed the Host, needed to destroy and devour and end it to end is hunger._

_But all that attempt in the middle of the hive resulted in was yet another failure.  The Host had defeated it yet again, carving and cutting and that form it had obtained was broken down and slashed and crushed and it was back to helpless formlessness again._

_And yet again, its host gave it life again after snuffing it out._

_It could survive being torn apart, and when the host ran through it, it once more had form and will._

* * *

_He was walking the razor’s edge._

_The Old Man had not been happy to hear that Cross had managed to inject the parasite into ZEUS, and then promptly lost track of “it”.  That was a failing Cross had absolutely no excuse for—he had taken his eyes off of something he knew was incredibly dangerous and was lucky that Mercer had escaped without taking Cross's spine out while he wasn't paying attention._

_Maybe worse than the General’s anger over his failure was the grilling he received from McMullen and a few other Gentek scientists.  They wanted a full debriefing; that was imperative.  It quickly became apparent that the problem wasn’t just that Mercer had managed to walk away—one of the scientists let slip he was concerned over what exactly would happen if the “Cure” worked.  While it had been sold to Cross as a “pathogen”, more specifically it was a parasite.  Something that would consume Mercer just as Mercer consumed people._

_And they were worried about what would happen if it killed Mercer, what it would do._

_It wasn’t just that he was field-testing a brand new weapon to use against the infected.  That had happened to him before—some times it worked, other times it didn’t and he had to rely on more conventional approaches.  It was that they kept the fact that it was possible their parasite would end up just as problematic as Mercer was if it worked._

_The Unit was supposed to be fighting these things, not creating new ones._

_Except that wasn’t quite true.  Hope, Idaho had created Greene and something else.  Given the disarray in Manhattan, Cross had helped himself to some new files, had some sinking suspicions confirmed. To a degree, the General was right. Alex Mercer was an it, the Alex walking around Manhattan at least.  He wasn’t the freak result of testing, or a disgruntled researcher gone rogue, he was the culmination of Project BLACKLIGHT.  Something that could rewire living organisms.  Just another in the long line of things that resulted from Greene being dragged from Hope._

_How much was a human life worth?  In the big picture, not that much.  Cross had ended plenty of them, even before he learned about the virus and all the nasty things it could do—before he realized how important it was to be willing to burn everything.  No, in stopping the infection, a human life was not worth that much.  But a million?  Several million?  All over something that could have been avoided, over something fundamentally the Unit’s fault?  The calculus became very unclear at that point._

_Working with the Unit required a lot of improvisation.  Sometimes the best gear, countermeasures, and tactics that they could come up with were useless—something all too common in Manhattan these days.  It also required a willingness to sacrifice everything to achieve its goal, to burn out the infection._

_To the degree that Randall had instilled that in him, Cross was grateful_.

* * *

Things were clearer now.  It had a fuller picture, of itself, of the world it found itself vomited out into, about its place and the host’s place and Blackwatch’s place.  

That unwholeness, that yearning, was because it never fulfilled its purpose, the reason it was made.  It was supposed to kill its host, and had failed, and its failure had been Cross's failure because it had been Cross's weapon.  It was given a second chance with Greene, thanks to its host, and it failed with her and a second time with its host, too.

Now it had another chance.

Soon the island would be no more, there would be no more infection.  Nothing was likely to survive.  But it had a plan… because Cross had information.  It _could_ survive this.  It could survive this if it was whole, and to become hole it would kill its host and be complete and free of everything.

Cross’s mind was very interesting.  It was odd because in a way, those suspicions in the back of his head, that Cross never would have acted on, made it clear.  It was made to kill an infection.

Blackwatch was infected.  That was something Cross thought, to himself.  He didn’t have a full picture—still damndably incomplete--but the Unit was at its core causing the problems it was needed to prevent.  They pulled Greene out of Hope for future use, handed her over to Gentek, started a half-assed purge to silence a leak, introducing a dozen points of failure into their system while continuously upping the stakes.  Blackwatch was sick, and for it to actually do its job, that had to be burned away.

That was Cross’s deepest secret.  Blackwatch was infected.

McMullen, Cross, and Randall… they knew about its existence, that it was cancer meant to kill Mercer.  Maybe McMullen and Randall were unaware of how it had changed—thanks to its failure to kill Mercer, and Mercer’s failure to have it kill Greene—but that was a risk it couldn’t allow.  It wasn’t enough to make itself whole, it needed to make itself unknown.

McMullen, Randall, who else?  A myriad of people could have known about its existence, although with Mercer running around, that number could be ever decreasing.

Mercer.

That would be useful.  Cross had entertained that thought?  Using Mercer to clean house before disposing of him?  It could bring that vision to life.  McMullen and Randall needed to die, and after that, when it consumed Mercer, then it would be whole, and then the nuclear bomb would wipe out every last person who _knew_ of it.

McMullen first, then follow Randall’s orders to bring in “Taggart”.  Bring Taggart to Randall?  That could work.  _Would_ work.  Mercer would consume Taggart, and then Randall, bait for its final opportunity to consume Mercer and make itself whole.

Then it would be safe and whole and free.  They had created it, all of them.  Randall wanted a weapon, and McMullen made it.  Cross had used it, and Mercer survived it, and Greene had gave it form and the ability to affect the world beyond its host.  And it had let Mercer killed Greene and killed Cross, and would use Mercer to kill McMullen and Randall and it would kill Mercer.  They all helped it be, and it would be all that was left of them.  It might even get answers.  What Mercer felt when he killed it.  Why Randall took Greene out of Hope.  Cross provided it some direction, some thoughts about the future.  Something other than to drift in incompleteness.  Mercer had taken Greene.  Mercer would, at its urging, take McMullen, Taggart, and Randall.  And all of that would be its.

That vague feeling it had when MOTHER died was back.  Thanks to Captain Cross, it had an idea of what that feeling was.

Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Hm... this was interesting trying to sort out. I hadn't managed to get everything I had hoped to do for Yuletide done, but I enjoyed trying to sort out exactly what was motivating both Cross and "Cross" throughout the game, and how the former might've influenced the latter.


End file.
